


A Picture Says a Thousand Words

by Korpikaazi



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Almost Kiss, Anger, Denial, Flirting, Homophobic Language, Longing, M/M, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7975591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korpikaazi/pseuds/Korpikaazi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Toki imprisoned who knows where, Skwisgaar finds it hard to deny the feelings he's suppressed for so long any more. Caution for homophobic language from OCs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Picture Says a Thousand Words

Skwisgaar swirled the remaining vodka around the bottom of the elegant frosted glass bottle. He gave a mirthless chuckle as he thought about how proud Pickles would be of him – almost a litre and he was still standing (mostly) upright. Raising his eyes sluggishly, he glared at the carnage taking place in the Mordhaus living room, feeling increasingly bitter. Girls filled almost every last space, seemingly trying to outdo each other for the most cleavage and thigh on show. Pickles was lying on the table, having Bourbon poured directly down his throat by an obliging groupie. Murderface was slouching on a chair, surrounded by disinterested sluts. Skwisgaar could hear him ranting, but Murderface’s speech impediment coupled with his slurring and Skwisgaar’s alcohol induced language barrier made it impossible to work out what exactly he was ranting about. Nathan seemed to have climbed up a bookshelf and was teetering precariously from the top shelf, reaching for the chandelier. Skwisgaar wondered what chemicals were raging through the frontman’s system that had convinced him that the enormous light fitting was closer to him than the 10 metre gap he was trying to bridge with an outstretched arm.

Skwisgaar threw his head back and downed the last of the vodka, relishing in the feel of it burning down to his stomach. Scowling at his band mates, he wondered how they were so successfully keeping the party going. He had tried to keep up appearances, screwing and drinking and snorting his way through the months since Toki was taken, but he could feel the cracks beginning to form. Remorse, fear, anger, despair… they warred for the Swede’s attention as the large quantity of alcohol he’d imbibed broke down his emotional barriers.

The grating sound of groupies giggling at Nathan’s death defying antics rang through Skwisgaar’s head like a knife. How dare they laugh? How dare they feel happiness, when right now Toki is Odin knows where, suffering or possibly already dead? How dare they treat the little dildo with such contempt? Rage bubbled up inside the Swede like steam through a geyser. He needed to out of that foul living room and he needed out _now_.

Though a little unsteady, Skwisgaar’s long legs took him swiftly across the packed room. Women groped at him as he passed but he swatted their hands away, trying desperately to maintain his composure and not let his emotions show. In what felt to Skwisgaar like hours, although it took only seconds, he was out of the room and in the relative quiet of the cool hallway, but the draught did nothing to suppress the hot rage glowing inside him. With strength fuelled by the vodka, he flung the beautifully crafted glass bottle at the wall of the corridor. His thudding heart relished the harsh sound of it exploding against the wooden panels that lined the wall, but it was not enough to abate the seething tide of anger welling inside him. Unsteady legs carried the tall Swede to his pristine bedroom without thought. He slammed the door behind him, the wooden frame rattling on its hinges.

The gleaming white walls, the clear surfaces, the minimalist furniture; he could feel them laughing at him, mocking him with their clean, indifferent perfection. With a guttural cry that Nathan would be proud of, he slammed his fist into the nearest wall, not caring for once about what happened to his billion dollar hands. A dull sensation of pain added to the pleasure he felt as the perfect white paint cracked slightly under the assault. Knowing that the walls were too sturdily built for him to do much damage, he turned his rage on the other items in his room. Recklessly, mindlessly, he set about destroying everything in sight. Tables were upturned, their legs sticking up in the air like helpless inverted insects. Sheets were torn from the bed, strewn across the floor like the tattered remnants of war banners. Drawers were pulled from their chests, the contents tipped out and adding to the clutter on the floor. The elegant, gauzy curtains were ripped from their rail, shredded to rags by swollen fingers. With every moment of destruction, Skwisgaar could feel the rage in his core swirling and seething like a kraken. The last thing to go was the mirror. The hateful mirror, reflecting his wild, bloodshot gaze. A single blow was all it took. Pain, sharp and liberating, lanced through his hand. Warm blood dripped down his fingers as the shards of the mirror rained onto the floor. The leviathan that had been churning inside him sank back below the waters, leaving an eerie emptiness behind. Skwisgaar dropped to his knees amongst the carnage in his once immaculate room, his hair falling over his shoulders and shielding his face.

How long he knelt there, he had no idea.

Eventually, some of the strength returned to his muscles, and Skwisgaar lifted his head slightly, surveying the damage around him and feeling completely drained. As his eyes roved over the contents of his drawers his attention caught onto the edge of an envelope sticking out from under the pile of identical socks. Drawn like a moth to a flame, he crawled over to it, grasping it with shaking, bloodied hands. He knew what it contained. He didn’t want to open it, he didn’t have the strength to deal with it – but his fingers disobeyed his brain. He watched, detached, as his swollen digits tore through the envelope that had been sealed for years. His heart began to pound as he removed the carefully stowed contents.

A photo.

A single photo, taken years ago. No one but Skwisgaar knew that this photo existed.

Toki.

As he held the glossy image, the memory of that day, the day this precious photo was taken, stormed through his mind. He remembered it as through it had happened yesterday.

 

~*~

 

“Skwisgaar?” Toki’s timid voice filtered through the closed door, followed by a quiet knock. Skwisgaar swung his legs off of the bed where he’d been lying and laid his guitar carefully on its stand before opening the door.

“Hej, Tokis,” he said, smiling as the young Norwegian fiddled with his fingers as he was wont to do around the band. Despite the fact that he had moved in with them several weeks ago, the newest member of Dethklok was often very nervous when he had to converse with anyone. “Ams you okays?”

Toki nodded quickly, a small but sincere smile spreading across his face. “Mr Ofdensen givesed me my first pockets monies!” Toki said eagerly, holding up a small handful of dollars. “I’ve nevers seens so much in my lifes!”

Skwisgaar smiled fondly at Toki’s exuberance. He shifted slightly away from the doorway, allowing Toki to enter his spotless room. “What ams you goings to do with you’s forst wages then, Tokis?” he asked as Toki sat on the large bed and folded his legs up underneath himself. Skwisgaar settled himself on the wheeled desk chair that sat between the bed and his desk (which normally doubled as a dressing table, not that Skwisgaar would ever let the others find _that_ out).

“Wells…” Toki said, biting his lip slightly and rocking back and forth, reminding Skwisgaar of one of those strange toys that were designed to wobble but never fall over, “that’s what I ams wantings to talks to you about.”

Skwisgaar merely raised an eyebrow, letting the Norwegian finish in his own time.

Toki fiddled with his hands again, looking as though he couldn’t find the words. After a moment of fidgeting, he reached into the back pocket of the jeans he was borrowing from Pickles, fishing out a slightly crumpled flyer. He stared at the image for a moment before handing it silently to Skwisgaar.

Skwisgaar curiously took the paper that was being held out almost reverently towards him. A quick glance down showed him a picture of an aging band and the logo “AC/DC” emblazoned over the top. “The legends of rock ‘n’ roll return to the stage for one night only,” Skwisgaar read out loud while Toki jittered excitedly on the bed. “The Plaza, Thursday 6th June.” He lifted his eyes to meet Toki’s shining icy ones. The band’s name was vaguely familiar to Skwisgaar, possibly something from his teenage years, he thought.

Unable to suppress the grin that was spreading across his face, Toki started babbling eagerly, his English starting to become incoherent. “They ams was the firsts bands I has ever heards that I likeds,” he said, his grammar steadily slipping in his excitement. “Whens I was in Norway, I hears them playings from someone’s car. I askeded the man whose they was and he let me takes his tape. I listened to thems every nights for months until my Father finds the tapes and…” Toki trailed off for a moment, a strange look briefly flitting across his eyes before he started up again. “I never dreamsed that maybe ones days that I coulds actuallies sees them playings for reals ons a stage! But I finds this flyers in the toilets of da clubs wes playeds in and now with mine pockets monies maybe I coulds go and watches them!”

“Slower, Tokis,” Skwisgaar reprimanded gently, starting to find Toki’s garbled English difficult to understand. “Sos you wants to go to sees this band,” he clarified, and Toki nodded enthusiastically. “What ams that to do with me?”

Skwisgaar almost laughed as Toki’s mood switched immediately back from excited to nervous again. The boy was once again fidgeting, this time with a small hole in the knee of Pickles’ jeans. He bit his lip slightly before looking up at Skwisgaar. “I amns’t readings English so good,” he said hesitantly, still picking at the loose fibres in the hole of his jeans. “I don’ts know hows to gets the tickets.”

Skwisgaar smiled at Toki, his heart clenching in a way he was not exactly familiar or comfortable with. “Why didn’ts you just ask Charles?”

This time Toki dropped his eyes and refused to look up as he spoke. “I… I was hopings that maybes… you… you woulds comes with me?”

Again, there it was: that strange – though not unpleasant – clenching in Skwisgaar’s chest. He did his best to ignore it. “Sures, why not?” he replied to Toki with a shrug. “Can thinks of worse things to does with my time.”

The look of gratitude, relief and sheer happiness on Toki’s face made the feeling that had been starting in Skwisgaar’s chest multiply tenfold. He found himself gripped by a strange desire to wrap his arms around the Norwegian boy and hold him close. He shook himself slightly to try and clear the feeling, making a mental note to get Pickles to change their coke dealer.

Distracting himself by focusing back on the task at hand, he turned the flyer he still held over to read the print on the back. He wheeled his chair over to the phone extension in his room and dialed the number typed on the bottom of the sheet.

He could feel Toki’s eyes watching him excitedly as he pressed buttons on the phone to get through the automated messages. Eventually, he got through to an actual person. After giving them his request for two tickets, he felt a slight shock when they quoted the price - $130! Still, he didn’t have the heart to face Toki’s inevitable disappointment if he were to hang up in disgust as he was so sorely tempted to do, so instead, he bit the bullet and gave the faceless voice on the other end of the phone his bank details and address.

As he hung up the phone he was almost thrown from his chair as a gangly projectile flung itself at him, hugging him tightly around the middle. “Oh takk, Skwisgaar!” Toki said, his voice slightly muffled from where his face was pressed into Skwisgaar’s midriff. Caught by surprise at the contact, Skwisgaar stiffened and lifted his arms in a vaguely defensive posture. Toki seemed to notice his discomfort and backed off, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment, though still looking at him with excited, shining eyes. Skwisgaar took in a deep breath, partly relieved, but also feeling oddly regretful.

“Oh, yeah,” Toki said, fishing his pocket money out. “I don’ts know how much I’s owing you,” he said, thrusting the wad of notes at Skwisgaar.

Skwisgaar took the notes and sifted through them quickly, suppressing a snort. $45. He removed three tens and handed the rest back to Toki, who was beaming again. “Make sure you save that,” he said, smiling at Toki. “You can buy yourself a T-shirt or something while yous there.”

\--

The day of the concert, Skwisgaar was woken by the sounds of mugs clanging in the kitchen adjacent to his room. He ran his hand over his face and squinted up at the glowing digits of his alarm clock. It read 08.45. He groaned and pulled his fleecy blanket over his head but it was too late. Usually he could sleep through most noises, but once he was awake, that was it – his ears would pick up every last tiny sound. With a begrudging sigh, he threw the covers off and dressed, heading out into the kitchen.

“ _Faen_ … _faen dritt_ … shh… ah! _Forbanna_ … shhh!”

Skwisgaar felt his annoyance at being woken so early in the morning melt instantly as he watched Toki trying to get himself some breakfast without making any noise, cursing under his breath in Norwegian every time anything made a sound.

Leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, Skwisgaar watched Toki’s useless attempts to be quiet for a while before announcing his presence.

“Honestly, Tokis, what woulds your mother says if she heards you swearings like that?”

Toki spun around to face Skwisgaar, his growing hair swinging around his face. For a moment Skwisgaar saw that Toki didn’t just look startled – there was a look of raw fear in his icy eyes, and all the colour had completely drained from his face.

Wondering what the hell could have caused Toki to react like a frightened fawn, Skwisgaar pushed himself off of the wall lightly. “Toki..?”

The look of fear seemed to soften and leave Toki’s face, replaced by recognition and a touch of guilt.

“Skwisgaar! I didn’ts hears you come in. I’m sorries if I woked you, I trieds to be quiet.” Toki was still whispering to avoid disturbing the rest of the household.

Skwisgaar shrugged, still wondering what could have caused Toki to act so frightened. “Ams not yous fault you has the grace of an elephankts.”

Under his breath, Skwisgaar heard Toki mumble: “Not my fault you has the ears of one.”

Skwisgaar started, before letting out a low chuckle. That was the first time Toki had ever come back at any of the band for one of the insults they threw at him. Maybe, finally, Toki was starting to feel comfortable with them. Although judging by how Toki clapped his hand over his mouth the moment he realized he’d been heard, perhaps not.

Not wanting Toki to think that he was actually cross with the banter, he crossed the kitchen and threw one arm over the boy’s shoulders. “Looking forwards to the concskert?”

Toki looked up at him and nodded, a huge grin breaking out on his face and his eyes shining.  “I couldn’ts hardlies sleep last nights for thinkings about it,” he said.

Skwisgaar smiled down at Toki’s eager face, the clenching in his chest that he was beginning to enjoy starting up again. He gave Toki’s shoulders a quick squeeze before retrieving his own mug from the cupboard and filling it with the coffee Toki had brewed. They sat together on the sofa in the living room to have their breakfast – Skwisgaar drinking only a cup of strong black coffee, Toki tucking into a giant bowl of sugary, multi coloured cereal that smelled like a sweet shop and a cup of coffee that was more milk than anything else.

They sat in companionable silence for a while – still waking up – when Toki spoke.

“Skwisgaar, I… t’ank you.” The Norwegian shoved some cereal quickly into his mouth before continuing. “I was goingks to head out soon. Mr Ofdensen tolds me how to gets there. He saids that he cans come and picks us up tonights though!”

“Dat’s nice of him,” Skwisgaar said with a small smile, knowing that Ofdensen would never offer that to anyone but Toki. He was quite protective of their newest arrival. They all were.

“Mr Ofdensen says it will takes about 2 hours to gets there,” Toki continued, jittering excitedly. “If yous leaves about fives o’clock, you shoulds get there before the doors is opening.”

Skiwsgaar had originally planned to meet Toki at the venue as late as possible; Toki, being worried about getting a good spot right at the front, was planning to get there absurdly early. However, Toki’s enthusiasm and good mood was infectious, and Skwisgaar found himself contemplating whether to go with him at this ungodly hour.

“Toki, does you wants me to comes with you now?”

The look of gratitude that lit up the Norwegian’s naturally icy eyes sealed the deal for Skwisgaar. Something about that look the boy’s face made him feel like agreeing to anything.

“I takes that as a yes then. Lets me has a quick shower and thens we can go together.”

Toki grinned from ear to ear, looking lost for words.

\--

The bus was cramped and stuffy, hot despite the early hour. Skwisgaar realized as he stood crushed between Toki and a stranger’s backpack that it must be what he’d heard the Americans in the band refer to as ‘rush hour’. He snorted lightly under his breath, thanking Odin that he had never had to live his life as a regular jack-off like these people. Day in, day out, surrounded by the smell of other people’s armpits – he’d take the shitty apartment and hours of rehearsals over this even if given a million chances.

The only thing that kept the journey slightly bearable was Toki’s steady stream of amusing comments. He had taken to giving the people on the bus nicknames and back stories to keep himself occupied. Their conversation was hidden in a slightly mangled mix of Swedish and Norwegian, swapping between languages whenever they couldn’t think of the right word.

“ _By the windows. Big Nose the Bear Fighter. Originally a lumberjack from Canada; he moved to America and discovered burgers. Got too fat to cut trees, so turned his talents to wrestling with grizzly bears. Kept the checked shirt though.”_

Skwisgaar sniggered slightly as he looked over at the large man leaning against a pole by the windows of the bus.

_“I think his arse crack is currently wrestling with that pole,”_ Skwisgaar replied, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

Toki stood on his toes and leaned his chin on Skwisgaar’s shoulder to get a better look. As soon as he caught sight of the offending butt he burst into loud laughter, causing many of the people on the bus to look around at him. The Norwegian reddened slightly and stifled his laughter as a lady sitting below the squashed Scandinavians gave him a look of disdain.

Skwisgaar threw daggers from his eyes at her for causing Toki’s laughter to falter. In retaliation, the Swede spent the rest of the journey trying his best to cause Toki to let out more of those carefree giggles. Every time he succeeded, Skwisgaar’s heart clenched along with Toki’s laughter; he found himself wanting to try even harder to elicit the sound from the often too quiet Norwegian.

Finally, the bus driver announced their stop and the Scandinavians squeezed past grumpy commuters to get off of the bus, sighing with relief.

Toki pulled out a folded piece of paper from his trouser pocket (this time a pair of cargos, again borrowed from Pickles) and straightened it out, his eyebrows crinkling together as he looked at it. Skiwsgaar looked over his shoulder and saw a hand drawn map and a set of instructions written in Toki’s childish handwriting, mostly in English but with words in Norwegian here and there.

“Okays,” he said, looking at the streets around him, “I thinks we goes… thats way.”

Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow skeptically at him, but followed him nonetheless. No harm in wandering around for a while – they still had another 8 hours to kill before the doors even opened.

To Skwisgaar’s surprise however, Toki found the venue within ten minutes. The Swede was amazed to see that they were not the first ones to arrive; there were about ten people queueing already. A vision formed in his mind of a similar situation, but instead of people queueing for hours and hours under a sign saying: “TONIGHT, ONE NIGHT ONLY - AC/DC”, they were standing beneath one saying “TONIGHT, ONE NIGHT ONLY – DETHKLOK”. Skwisgaar smiled at the thought. One day, people would be as excited to come and see him play as Toki was right now to see his own favourite band.

Following the younger man to the end of the line, Skwisgaar settled himself on the ground next to Toki, his long legs splayed across the pavement, forcing pedestrians to have to step over him. He watched fondly as Toki easily struck up a conversation with the group of people in front of him. The young Norwegian had such an open personality that people found easy to talk to – completely the opposite of his own naturally aloof manner. Once or twice Toki tried to bring him in to the conversation, but being as the most common topic was the band they were all waiting to see, whom Skwisgaar had only vaguely heard of, he didn’t have much to add to the conversation. He turned away from the group slightly and leant against the wall of the Plaza, his fingers ghosting over scales on invisible frets, his brain working on the melodies to fit the lyrics Nathan had shown him last night.

\--

He didn’t realise he’d fallen asleep until he felt someone gently shaking his shoulder. He felt completely disorientated as his eyes focused on Toki’s smiling face. _Why the fuck is Toki here? Why does my butt hurt like hell? Who the hell are all these people?_

After a moment of coming to, Skiwsgaar realized he’d fallen asleep leaning against the wall. His neck was slightly cramped from the awkward angle and his backside was aching fiercely from sitting on the hard ground. He refocused on Toki’s face hovering above him, still smiling gently.

“I’s sorries for wakings you, Skwisgaar,” he said quietly. “I thoughts you might wants some foods…”

Skwisgaar adjusted his slumped position with a groan, tilting his head from side to side to try and ease out the cramps. Toki sat back on his heels, giving the Swede some more space. “How longs was I outs for?”

“Couple hours,” Toki replied, looking at the $5 children’s watch Nathan had bought him as a surprise once. “Is almost three.”

Skiwsgaar nodded, glancing along the line that had formed behind them. He was amazed to see that the queue now went around the corner, despite the fact that there were four hours until the doors opened. He looked back at Toki who was rummaging around in the little rucksack he’d taken with him. The younger man pulled out two brown paper bags, one labelled ‘Skwisgaar’s’ and one labelled ‘Toki’s’, scrawled in the Norwegian’s childish handwriting. Toki handed the right one over, before opening his own eagerly. Skwisgaar looked into his own doubtfully, wondering what he was in for. Inside the paper bag were some carefully wrapped foil parcels. He pulled out the largest one and unwrapped it, letting out a surprised ‘oh!’ as he saw the contents.

“Raggmunk!” he grinned, smelling the package deeply, “and lingonberries! Tokis… wow!”

Toki smiled at Skwisgaar, his cheeks reddening with pleasure that his gift was appreciated. “They’s not home mades though,” he said, looking at his own pickled herring sandwich.

Skwisgaar shrugged, appreciating the gesture all the same. “Where the hells did you finds these in Americas?”

Toki pulled a half smile, clearly pleased with himself. “I asked Mr Ofdensen and he tooksed me to this littles place in the town, where theys imp… imtor… imptor… buys in lots of stuffs from Scansdanavia. I takes a borrow from next month’s pockets monies and gots us some real cool stuffs!”

Skwisgaar paused with the pancake half way to his mouth, feeling guilty that his friend had spent his money just for a Swedish treat. “Toki… you didn’t has to does that you know.”

Toki shook his head and smiled, his mouth full of sandwich. He swallowed thickly before replying simply: “I wanteds to.”

Skwisgaar felt that strange clenching in his chest build up again, stronger than ever. Accompanying the feeling was an overwhelming urge to wrap the smaller Norwegian up in his arms and never let go. A small voice in the back of his mind told him what the feeling might be, but he quashed the thought immediately, instead digging in to his special lunch.

After feasting on the raggmunk, cinnamon buns and tigerkaka, Skwisgaar went to the bar across the road to use the bathroom. While standing at the urinal, he found his mind wandering back to Toki. He couldn’t shake the strange feeling he was starting to get around the younger man, and although he tried to ignore what he knew it meant, it was beginning to frighten him.

As he left the bathroom, Skwisgaar caught the eye of a girl leaning against the bar, wearing a slashed AC/DC shirt and a look that the Swede knew well. He smirked, pleased to find an opportunity to push Toki out of his mind.

Half an hour later, he emerged from the alley behind the bar, straightening his vest and feeling pleased with himself. He rejoined Toki in the queue, feeling sure that his jaunt behind the bar would have fixed any strange feelings he seemed to have developed.

Toki smiled up at Skwisgaar from the floor, not mentioning how long he had been away. “Not longs untils we can goes in!” he said, looking excited.

__

Skwisgaar held the small disposable camera Toki had given him carefully as they stood before the doors, tickets in hand. He could feel the excitement exuding from Toki in bright waves as the young man bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. The Norwegian’s delight was contagious, and Skwisgaar found himself grinning almost as eagerly. Despite his sojourn with the girl from the bar earlier, the Swede found that the odd clenching in his chest he felt around Toki was just as present as before; however, at this point, he couldn’t work up the energy – nor a reason – to ignore it.

As soon as their tickets had been checked, Toki made a break for the stage area, ignoring the calls from staff not to run. Skwisgaar followed casually behind, his long legs easily catching up with the excited teen. He stopped next to where Toki was standing, his arms already folded over the front barrier and a radiant smile plastered across his face.

“Jeg er så spent, Skwisgaar, _I’m so excited_!”

Skwisgaar laughed, resting one arm around Toki’s shoulders. “I can sees that, little Tokis,” he said, giving an affectionate squeeze.  Toki looked up at him, his icy blue eyes sparkling warmly.

Skwisgaar rapidly removed his arm, suddenly afraid of what might happen if he continued touching the young Norwegian by his side. Unfortunately, he had forgotten just how squashed it could be at the front of concerts, and he soon found himself being pushed up against Toki’s side. At first, he tried to keep as much distance between them as possible, but very soon his pounding heart began to overrule his head and he sighed, deciding, (for the moment at least), to just enjoy the warmth pulsing through him where his body pressed up against Toki’s.

__

Compared to the time they had waited outside the venue, it seemed like a very short time before the support act arrived on the stage. Toki cheered and clapped and grinned his way through the poorly played and badly engineered songs the seemingly anonymous band played. Skwisgaar couldn’t help but cringe at every missed note and lazily constructed riff. Toki didn’t seem to notice however; he looked to Skwisgaar like he was having the time of his life, cheering away. The Swede couldn’t help but smile, (despite the shoddy playing on the stage), when looking at his younger friend.

“Wowie, Skwisgaar!” Toki grinned as the support act left the stage. “That was so cools! And louds – I t’inks I lose my hearings”

“Pfft.” Skwisgaar maintained aloofness while trying to ignore the slight ringing in his ears. “Little Tokis, hasn’t you evers been to a conskert befores?”

Toki’s cheeks reddened slightly as he shook his head, though his eyes were still shining brightly. “Onlies the gigs we’s done in the bars and stuffs. They were nothings like this!”

Skwisgaar couldn’t help himself. He put his arm back around the young Norwegian as best he could in the cramped conditions. Toki’s cheeks darkened further as his smile turned shy. Neither man said anything.

__

 

Toki’s little watch soon ticked around until it was almost nine. The closer the hands got to the start time, the more jittery he became, until he was practically bouncing up and down on the spot. Skwisgaar watched him affectionately, unable to keep a small smile hidden. He laughed as Toki went nuts when the lights in the arena went down. The sound of a guitar filled the air and even Skwisgaar started to feel the anticipation, despite not really being familiar with the band.

The lights illuminated a figure on the stage playing a guitar and wearing what looked suspiciously like a school uniform. Skwisgaar stared, watching this aging man in his shorts and cap playing for all he was worth. The sound of the audience chanting the guitarist’s name washed over the Swede and he found once more his mind drifting into a future when he was the figure on the stage, with thousands of adoring fans chanting his name and banging their heads to his riffs, girls throwing themselves at his feet as the wind blew through his hair and the sound pumped from a million amplifiers…

Skwisgaar was pulled from his reverie by the sound of Toki’s high voice shouting along to the lyrics of a song with joyful abandon. The Norwegian’s accent seemed to fade slightly as he threw himself into singing along with the equally high pitched vocalist on the stage.

As he watched Toki practically fling himself over the barrier with a huge grin on his face, Skwisgaar felt his heart begin to race. Watching his young friend’s pure joy filled him with happiness but also a strong sense of longing to be the one to make Toki smile that way.

A thought struck Skwisgaar and he lifted the little disposable camera that Toki had given him to take pictures of the show. Instead of pointing it at the stage, he turned to his side and pointed the camera over at Toki. The young Norwegian sang on blissfully, his arms raised in the air.

The shutter snapped.

__

 

Toki hung over the barrier as the crowd filed out of the packed arena, his hair plastered to his forehead by sweat, his face still creased up in a grin. Skwisgaar reached over to ruffle the hair on top of Toki’s head, then pulled away quickly with a look of disgust, wiping his hand on his jeans.

“Tokis you ams gross sweaty,” he said with a smile.

Toki snorted inelegantly. “You’s not much betters, Skwis,” he said, returning the smile.

Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow at the shortening of his name but didn’t comment. “Come ons little Tokis, let’s gets you some waters.”

As they stood at the bar downing large plastic cups of water, Toki revived his energy a little and started babbling at Skwisgaar, his words slipping in and out of Norwegian in his excitement. He couldn’t stop talking about how this had been the best day ever.

Skwisgaar draped his arm back over Toki’s shoulders as they were ushered out of the arena, finding he was getting very used to the feeling of the younger man’s bulky shoulders under him. Toki continued rabbiting all the way to the exit, pausing only to shiver slightly as the pair exited into the comparatively cold night air.

Skwisgaar led them to the pick up/drop off area behind the arena, although Ofdensen didn’t seem to have arrived yet. After a cursory glance around, the Swede turned to his friend with a smile. Toki suddenly looked shy again.

“Skwisgaar, I…” Toki bit his lip for a moment before flinging his arms around the tall blonde. “Takk, Skwisgaar. I dag har vært fantastisk, _today has been amazing_ ,” he mumbled into Skwisgaar’s shoulder.

Skwisgaar could feel his heart pounding in his chest as Toki held him. His mind was racing; everything felt so right he couldn’t remember why he was fighting any more. He rested his hand on the back of Toki’s head as the younger Norwegian pulled away slightly.

“Tokis…”

He was drowning in those icy blue eyes, those eyes that had sparkled and gleamed all night. There was so much depth in those eyes. So much more than someone of Toki’s age should have seen. The world around him melted away as he held Toki’s face, so close now that he could feel the younger man’s warm breath on his face. Skwisgaar was letting his heart rule his mind and never had anything felt so right.

“Fucking faggots!”

A car horn blasted mere feet from Skwisgaar and Toki as the Scandinavians sprang apart as though they had been burned. The car cruised past them in the drop off zone.

“Get a room fags, no one wants to see your gay-ass shit!” The driver called as he passed. The occupants of the car roared with laughter as they sped off. Toki and Skwisgaar stood silently apart from each other; one turned red, the other white.

To Skiwsgaar, the two minutes they spent waiting for Ofdensen felt like a thousand years.

If their CFO noticed the strange silence from the Scandinavians in the back seat, he didn’t say anything. Skwisgaar stared resolutely out of his window, watching the lights of the city flash past. He avoided acknowledging either of the others in the car until he heard a slight snuffling beside him, which caught his attention.

He turned to see Toki curled up awkwardly in his seat, having fallen asleep with his seatbelt digging into his neck. The Swede couldn’t help it – the frown that creased Toki’s eyebrows wormed its way into Skwisgaar’s heart. As gently as he could, he reached over to Toki and tugged him gently over until his head was resting on Skwisgaar’s shoulder. The frown on the Norwegian’s face cleared as he shifted slightly and settled comfortably against the older man. Without thinking about it, Skwisgaar wrapped his arm around Toki, reveling in the soft warmth radiating from him.

The rest of the journey, Skwisgaar’s mind raced. He felt like he was drowning and the nearest lifesaver was rapidly drifting away. Never in all his years of sex, drugs and metal had he felt this way and it frightened him. He had a reputation to uphold – besides, what would the rest of the band say? And the fans?

So lost was Skiwsgaar in his thoughts that he didn’t realise that they had arrived back at the dingy apartment Nathan had christened Mordhaus. As Ofdensen pulled the car up, he raised his eyebrow at Skwisgaar in the rear-view mirror. The Swede ignored his look and disentangled himself from the waking Norwegian. His mind was made up.

Without a word he left the car and ran up the stairs to the apartment.

He felt Toki’s eyes on him.

He didn’t look back.

~*~

Still kneeling in the carnage of his once pristine room, Skwisgaar watched the photo of Toki start to shake.

The photo he’d slipped from the set of concert pictures Pickles had gotten developed in the mall.

The photo he’d hidden long ago.

The photo he’d refused to think about in over ten years.

The photo he couldn’t look away from.

Toki’s hair was wildly mussed in the slightly blurred image. His arms were reaching eagerly towards the stage. His face was plastered with an open mouthed grin as he shouted along to the lyrics.

His icy blue eyes were sparkling with bliss.

Skwisgaar felt the walls he’d built around his heart crumble.

Ten years he’d wasted. Denying himself, denying Toki.

Ten years of berating, belittling and scorning Toki, making sure the younger man knew that all he felt for him was hate.

Making sure that he himself knew all he felt for Toki was hate.

Toki had never asked why he had changed. The Swede hoped that Toki had forgotten that day entirely.

Skwisgaar had tried.

A hand at his shoulder startled the devastated Swede. He looked up to see Ofdensen looking down at him, his face unreadable. Skwisgaar took a shuddering breath, feeling like it was his first one in hours. That was all it took for the first tears he’d let fall in years to start cascading down his face. It was like a dam inside him had burst and all the feeling he’d kept locked up was being released. He tried to speak to Ofdensen as the CFO knelt in front of him, but all that came out were gasping sobs.

With gentle fingers, Charles took the photo from Skwisgaar’s bloodied hands, taking care not to bend it. For a moment he was silent, staring down at the photo of a jubilant and carefree Toki. In an extremely uncharacteristic display, Charles reached out and pulled the weeping guitarist into an embrace. He shook his head as Skwisgaar tried to speak again.

“I know, Skwisgaar. I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rattling around in my head for a while - since the epic AC/DC gig I saw in June (gosh that was a long time ago!). Inspired by two things - firstly a photo that my partner said was his favourite of me, where I'm completely inelegantly screaming at my favourite band; secondly, by a tale my friend told me of the verbal abuse he once suffered when in public with his boyfriend, and the fact that it almost frightened him into breaking up the relationship.  
> It's a sad fact that people can be hurtful at times. I hope that one day, this sort of tale can be a thing of the past.
> 
> Thanks for reading, reviews are love :)


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